Fragments of a Wolf
by Space-facade
Summary: 100 snapshots in time. Just 100 memories, telling the story of a wolf. Slash.
1. Disease

**I've always wanted to do the 100 Prompt Challenge, and I've finally decided to give it a go. However, instead of writing 100 separate fics, I'm going to do 100 linked one shots, roughly centred around a timeline of Lupin's life. Each one is supposed to be approximately 500 words.**

**I've never tried anything like this before, so fingers crossed it works :) **

**A brief heads up should be that in future updates, slash will feature. You have been warned.**

**This one's for Xanthiae, because yesterday was brilliant.**

**Prompt 1 - Disease.**

* * *

'_Lycanthropy is a disease.' _

This was a stance that Remus Lupin's mother had maintained for as long as he could remember.

He'd been bitten when he was six years old, and it would always be his greatest regret that he hadn't run faster.

He remembered the gradual paralysis brought on by sheer terror, the iridescent shine of the full moon, hanging in the sky like a lucky penny, and the scent of rotting meat and death gusting over him in hot breaths.

Most of all he remembered the pain. The blackness of agony, so great in magnitude that he almost couldn't comprehend it. Almost.

And after, the blissful haze of unconsciousness. Floating in a dream land, anchored only to the world by the blood beating through the bite in his leg, reminding him with every heart beat:

Cursed.

Cursed.

Cursed.

Then, the months that followed.

His mother, crying silently in empty rooms when she thought he wasn't watching.

The excruciating search for a cure; watching every disappointment, every failure, drain a little more life from his father.

Sensing the change in their attitudes towards him. They still loved their son. But their son didn't exist anymore. He was somewhere deep, buried beneath the monster.

Except he wasn't. Not really.

He was still Remus Lupin.

But they made him into the wolf.

His mother seemed to take some comfort from calling lycanthropy a disease, as though he'd merely been careless enough to catch a bad head cold. Perhaps it was the idea that at some point someone, somewhere, would find the right method, the right way of pruning out the diseased part of the rose bush and allowing the flowers to flourish again.

Remus didn't think it was a disease.

When he transformed, when he spent his nights as a mindless, vicious creature, howling in agony at the moon, he knew it wasn't. It felt as though every dark thought, every dark nuance of his character, all the very worst parts of what made him who he was had been gathered together and had life breathed into them, just lying dormant until the siren call of the moon.

The wolf was a curse, yes. But not a disease. The wolf was a part of him. And there was no cure for that.

Sometimes, he'd lie awake at night, watching the moon waning or waxing and dream.

Dream of a life where he'd been able to run a little faster.

Dream of a life where people could still see him as more than the werewolf.

And then, on March the 10th 1971, it came true.

A letter arrived in the post, the wax seal bearing a crest with a large letter 'H' on it.

He knew what it was, of course. He just couldn't comprehend what it was doing on his doorstep.

His parents faced a decision. For them, it was agonising. Was there any way that their son, who was shunned by regular society, could have a normal education? What if people found out? What would happen with the transformations? What if a transformation went wrong?

For Remus, it was simple. Here was a man, a man with the reputation of greatness, offering him a life again. The letter contained the promise that no-one would know what he was. Arrangements could be made for him, it said, no-one would get hurt.

And even at the tender age of eleven, Remus trusted Albus Dumbledore.


	2. Bathroom

**Huge thanks to Xanthiae, and LoverFaery for the reviews. Much appreciated :D**

**I have now have all 100 of these written, so it should be a post a day for the next...98 days. Yay!**

**This, and the rest of the story in fact, is for L - Lupin is your favourite, and you are mine. **

**Prompt 2 - Bathroom**

* * *

It's the 1st of September, 1971.

A red train cuts a path across the landscape, bending like an exotic snake, clouds of white smoke billowing from the chimney.

Inside the belly of the snake, sits Remus Lupin.

He's eleven years old, and scrawny by anyone's standards. He's far too pale, and his eyes are ringed by dark circles. His hair is light brown, and slightly floppy, and seems to be complying with his wish to not stand out in any way at all.

His new robes are not new, they are patched and second, perhaps third, hand. His cauldron has a large dent in its side, and all his textbooks are already thoroughly annotated. He has no owl.

The only thing that is new is his wand, eleven inches, elm. Core of unicorn tail hair. It's feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket, simultaneously a reminder of why he does not belong, and why he actually just might.

He is a dark creature. He is not supposed to carry a wand.

But the wand chooses the wizard. And this wand had chosen him.

He had thrown up three times before leaving the house that morning. His mother's face had been pale and pinched, his father's strained.

And he'd regretted it. Wanted to shout that he'd made the wrong decision. That Albus Dumbledore was a fool and that there was no way a werewolf could attend Hogwarts. Beg his parents to take him home.

But then he'd walked through the barrier onto Platform 9 and ¾. Seen the scarlet steam engine, heard the shouts and calls of children, the chatter of stressed parents. Seen owls, and chocolate frogs, and broomsticks, and trunks.

He was still scared. Petrified, really. That he'd hurt someone. That someone would find out. That something would go wrong.

But standing on the station had reminded him that he had a chance to actually live as a wizard, instead of watching the world passing him by through metaphorical, and once a month literal, bars.

He was selfish and he still trusted Albus Dumbledore, so he swallowed his fear and got on the train.

He was in a carriage right at the back. This was by choice.

He felt as though every thin, pale scar on his face and hands was on fire, burning. Tiny beacons alerting everyone in the vicinity:

Look at me.

Look.

Freak.

Monster.

Werewolf.

Look.

So he hunched in his seat, looked out the window and concentrated very hard on remembering that he wanted this, and that he was very fucking lucky to have any chance at it at all.

Hours passed, and then, just as twilight was falling, the door to his carriage opened, and a boy appeared.

He was short, and his wild black hair appeared to be trying to escape from his head. His glasses were placed at a ludicrous angle on his nose, and he was beaming like a twit.

'Hey,' he said, 'hey, sorry, don't suppose you know which way the bathroom is? I've been wandering up and down this bloody train for what feels like hours.'

Remus had swallowed reflexively, and heart beating fast and palms slightly sweaty, somehow forced words out.

'Next door down,' he croaked.

The boy nodded, grinning.

'Thanks mate.'

Two minutes later, after what must have been the fastest pee in history, the boy re-appeared. This time however, he shoved his way into the carriage and threw himself down in the seat opposite Remus.

'You don't mind do you?' he asked rather belatedly. 'It's just some great git called Black is holding fort where I was originally sitting, and if I have to listen to one more word I'm going to have to flush his great swollen head down a toilet if we ever arrive.'

Remus stared at him in mute shock.

After a minute of this, the boy looked slightly concerned, and straightened up in the seat.

'Look, if it bothers you, I can just go find somewhere else to sit. I could go and sit in that other carriage opposite, with the boy with the enormous conk. His hair is leaving slime trails down the window.'

Taken by surprise, Remus managed a laugh, and his scars seemed to burn with a little less heat.

'No,' he muttered, 'it's fine. Of course I don't mind.'

The other boy crinkled his nose, hitching his glasses up, and leant forward, extending a hand.

'James Potter,' he said.

After a moment, Remus leant forward and shook.

'Remus Lupin,' he said, and his scars stopped burning.


	3. Delirious

**Slightly longer than intended! Enormous thanks to AKBookGirl and Xanthiae for the reviews 3**

**Prompt 3 - Delirious. **

* * *

Remus Lupin shared a circular stone room in Gryffindor Tower with three other boys.

No-one had been more surprised than him when he'd been sorted into Gryffindor. He'd been fully suspecting Slytherin.

He'd been at Hogwarts two months now, and this had been sufficient time for him to acclimatise and realise that, firstly, he was exceedingly good at being invisible, and secondly, if he kept his head down, and just worked hard, he would pass through the school virtually unnoticed, and trailing a string of reasonable grades. This seemed like the best policy.

Two months at Hogwarts had also been enough time for him to get something of a handle on his roommates.

James Potter, the boy he had met on the train, was a lunatic. He never stopped talking, he was permanently rumpled and clumsy, and his frequent ideas were as mad as his hair.

Sirius Black, the 'great git' as labelled by James, was rich, arrogant, and handsome. He was the only one who could get a word in edgeways with James, new prank ideas poured forth from him like vomit from a drunken sailor and his eyes gleamed with mischief and occasionally, an almost dangerous intensity.

Peter Pettigrew was a small boy, who reminded Remus sincerely of bread and butter pudding. He was pale, slightly doughy and somehow seemed very like the ingredients of a savoury snack trying to masquerade as a dessert – he didn't quite fit. He had a slightly squeaky voice, and hero-worshipped James and Sirius, who only put up with him because of his somewhat irregular strokes of genius.

Despite their slight clash of personalities on the train, James and Sirius were soon joined at the hip. They aggravated each other constantly; and there had been many verbal battles and several physical ones. Remus attributed this to the fact they were far too goddamned similar.

They were exactly the kind of boys that his mother had warned him to stay away from. Everyone knew who they were, they fell in and out of mischief as easily as they did the shower and to Remus, they seemed the very essence of being alive.

Wherever they went, Peter trailed behind them like a small blond shadow.

To Remus' surprise, his roommates treated him with a reasonable amount of courtesy. Sirius and James both terrified him, but all they did was treat him with steady polite disregard. He didn't really factor in their world at all.

Most of the time, this was how he liked it. There was nothing he feared more than catching their attention, having all that energy, that penchant for adventure and mischief, fixated solely on him.

And there was no doubt in his mind that if they sensed the mystery in him, then they would not let it drop. They would be like terriers, digging and scraping at the rabbit's burrow, endless and unforgiving, until the truth could be dragged out and shaken by the scruff of the neck.

But sometimes, when he saw them, dark heads bent together plotting, or coming back flushed with success from a kitchen raid, or fruitlessly trying to teach Peter how to levitate a toad, he wished.

He knew it was selfish and stupid to. He'd already had more of a chance than he'd deserved, more of a chance than any other werewolf would get. He should be thankful, and get on with getting an education, not be wishing for something to quell the loneliness that occasionally gnawed at his insides.

But being at Hogwarts, where no-one knew anything except Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey; it was becoming far too easy for him to just slip back into being Remus Lupin. To forget what he was for just a moment, and wish for friends.

Things changed when he was walking back from Transfiguration on a Tuesday, two days after full moon, and feeling particularly out of sorts.

Up ahead, James shoved Sirius sideways into a tapestry. The tapestry promptly collapsed, revealing a hidden niche in the wall, and Sirius went tumbling to the floor in a flurry of wool, dust and swearing.

James and Peter cackled like mad hyenas.

Thanks to his brisk stride, and the trio's clowning, they reached the dorm room at roughly the same time.

James and Sirius entered first, followed by Peter, and then Remus.

Remus was a couple of strides behind the others, but still not far enough behind that when the potion that had been balanced above the door frame fell, he could avoid getting splattered.

There was a variety of cursing, and Remus was dabbing angrily at the spreading stain on the front of his robes, when Sirius, who judging from his wet dog appearance had gotten the worst of the liquid, started to laugh.

'I bet it was those bastards upstairs, Frank and Gideon, they've been fuming for weeks about that thing we pulled with the hair dye…' James stopped mid-sentence, and stared at his best mate, who was doubled over with hilarity.

'What's funny?' he demanded.

These words seemed to have a strange effect on Sirius, who collapsed back on his bed in floods of laughter, tears glinting in his grey eyes.

There was a few moments silence, during which James, Peter and Remus stared at him in unabashed confusion, before, as suddenly as puppets whose strings had been cut, James and Peter sank to their knees and began to wheeze with silent racks of laughter.

Remus, now standing self-consciously by his bed, wondered if the world had gone mad.

He reached up, brushing a few drops of the fluid off the side of his neck, and was suddenly struck by the notion that this was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him.

He just simply had to laugh.

He heard a low chuckle, quiet at first, and then becoming louder, and after a second realised the noise was coming from him. In alarm, he tried to shut his mouth. He couldn't.

For some reason this was even funnier.

He sunk to his bed and cried tears of laughter.

For the next hour, all that could be heard from a certain Gryffindor dormitory was the combined hilarity of four first year boys.

It took Remus all of ten minutes of uncontrollable laughter to ascertain that the potion over the door had been enchanted with a Cheering Charm.

It took approximately forty for Sirius to literally laugh himself sick.

And thankfully, it only took an hour for the effects of the potion to start to wear off. Remus could feel his laughter start to quiet down, and the manic urge began to fade somewhat.

Across the room, Peter was groaning and clutching his stomach, James was hiccupping, and Sirius, who had clearly been the worst affected, had been reduced from delirium to simply chuckling.

Once he could breathe again, Sirius stood up and motioned James and Peter to stand in the middle of the room. They did so, James with exaggerated reluctance.

After a beat, Sirius turned and looked at the corner in which Remus sat, still breathing slightly heavily. He quirked an eyebrow in invitation.

Every bit of good sense Remus had was screaming that this was not a good idea. That this may in fact, be a really **bad **idea.

But the part of him that was sick of being lonely had been amplified by the fake laughter, and somehow, he found his feet taking careful steps into the middle of the room.

Once they were all there, standing assembled in a circle, Sirius put his hand out, palm down.

'I, Sirius Orion Black, on behalf of myself and the three other occupants of this room, solemnly swear that before the week is out, revenge and adequate havoc will be wreaked upon the occupants of the dormitory upstairs.'

Grinning like a madman, James slapped his palm down on top of Sirius's.

'Revenge and adequate havoc,' he said.

Peter echoed them in a flash, his hand slotting under Sirius's.

Three pairs of eyes turned to Remus; Peter's blue and still slightly watery, James's brown and not particularly bothered, and Sirius's.

The other boy's eyes were dark, and Remus couldn't read the expression in them, but something about it made him put his hand on top of the pile.

'Revenge and adequate havoc,' he repeated.

And then they were laughing for real.


	4. Autumn

**Huge thanks to Xanthiae, pigs103 and AMAZINGNESS for the reviews. Also to all the people who favourited or alerted. It really does make me smile :)**

**Prompt 4 - Autumn.**

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October 1972, and Remus Lupin's second year at Hogwarts.

A grey Saturday, the skies above the castle heavy with cloud, the wind carrying just the slightest threat of the winter chill to come.

They're walking around the lake; James and Sirius up ahead, jostling, shoving, and laughing, and Peter, always several steps behind, flushing with pleasure whenever he's indulged with a headlock.

Remus is several feet behind, with them, but still slightly separate.

The way he likes it - maybe. The way it has to be – yes, always.

They're just four young boys, enjoying a Saturday with no lessons. Remus isn't young anymore, he's grown up fast – had to - but lingering on the edge of their antics; he feels closer to it than he has in a long long time.

But not quite close enough to join in.

They've developed a pattern over the last year. They're inseparable; the four of them, their own little gang.

Although, perhaps the 'four' of them is too strong a term.

It's James and Sirius; it will always be James and Sirius. Together they are the Earth, the centre of everything that seems real.

Peter is the Sun, casting worshipful light.

And Remus…well, typically, he's the moon. Hiding in the shadows, subtle, quiet, always on the edge, but nevertheless there.

Together they wreaked revenge on Gideon, Fabian and Frank in the dormitory upstairs. It was a work of art. James and Sirius had the inspiration. Peter ran the necessary errands. And Remus…he masterminded the details. Took the background that Sirius and James put together, and painted in the specifics. A brushstroke here, a dot of colour there. Making it viable.

James declared him a legend, Peter supplied him with endless chocolate, and Sirius just grinned at him, sharp and seeing, as if he'd known all along what Remus was capable of.

The plan involved liberal quantities of dung bombs, three Fanged Frisbees and a Niffler, although the less said about that the better.

And just like that, Remus was in. It happened so easily, like a puzzle fitting into place. Nothing was ever said, but suddenly instead of three, there were four.

Together they held kitchen raids, battled the Slytherins, broke the record for points lost from Gryffindor, and tried not to drown under homework and end of year exams.

James and Sirius were infamous among the First Years. Peter basked in their reflected glory. Remus did his best to avoid the whole thing. He stayed quiet, spent more time in the library than anywhere else, and was polite to anyone that spoke to him.

But he had friends.

When he returned from the library, he would be greeted in the dorm by a pillow to the head. If he stayed quiet too long, they'd try their best to make him laugh; Peter with tentative invitations to play chess, James with invitations to the Quidditch pitch and Sirius with merciless teasing that somehow never seemed cruel. His politeness became useful to smooth over ruffled feathers and often provided an excellent tool when proclaiming their innocence.

He'd received letters over the summer; requests for homework help from Peter, rude postcards bearing two lines of James's chicken scrawl. And letters from Sirius, several pages at once, covered with the elegant script that was so at odds with the boy who Remus had frequently seen jinx Snape with boils.

And so they became close. But Remus always insured that it was never too close. It was both wonderful and terrible, to have that choice become a necessity.

At first, he hadn't even had to decide to keep people at arm's length; they'd made the decision for him.

So it was wonderful, to have people his own age close enough to him that he had to hold himself back.

But it hurt at the same time, because he knew they sensed he didn't trust them, and he wanted to, but he couldn't.

It kept him apart.

And everything they did was a constant reminder of this, even simply walking around the lake.

It was something they did regularly in first year. James and Sirius clowned, Peter hurried breathlessly behind, and Remus shadowed them, not speaking, there, but not there.

And things had not changed over the summer. Ahead of him, James tackled Sirius mercilessly into a large pile of leaves, and Peter hovered anxiously above the rustling autumnal fray, waiting for his invitation to join in.

They wrestled there for so long, that Remus actually caught them up. He settled onto a large rock next to the shrieking heap of leaves, and pulled out a book from the pocket of his robes.

Settled himself down to the task of staying somewhat separate.

In first year, they would have left him be. He would have read, maybe four pages, maybe forty, however long they took to get bored.

And then they'd be off again, racing further down the path, cries of 'Come on, Remus!' echoing behind.

But this time, he'd barely read a word, before he heard 'Remus' and felt a hand on his shoulder and a person at his back.

He knew without looking that it was Sirius. Even at twelve, his friend had presence.

He turned, thinking perhaps that they were bored already, and was met with a faceful of damp, mouldering leaves.

He yelped in shock, and fell backwards off the rock, clawing leaf mould out of his eyes and hair.

When he could see again, Sirius was looming over him, covered in dirt and the smell of earth. He raised an eyebrow in challenge as if to say 'Yeah? What are you going to do about it?'

And what Remus did about it was to launch himself up at the other boy, the element of surprise allowing him to knock Sirius flying. They landed with a thump in the pile of leaves, and twisted and turned as colour flashed past them.

Orange.

Remus sunk his teeth into Sirius's shoulder.

Yellow.

Sirius wrestled him to the floor and ground his face into the dirt.

Brown.

James smashed into Sirius with all the technique of a charging rhinoceros, and suddenly Remus was no longer eating mud.

Red.

His book lay forgotten, his mouth was filled with the taste of mould and soil, and he was damp. He seized a handful of moss and stuffed it down the back of Peter's shirt.

It was autumn, and everything was changing again.


	5. River

**Gosh, I'm so sorry for the delay in updating. University interview ate my world for a few days there. *sheepish* Updating should be back to normal now though!**

**Huge thanks, and possible even a puppy, to pigs103, Xanthiae, KCMagic and Enaid_Mora for the reviews. Makes my day :D**

* * *

It's still second year, almost Spring now, and Remus' favourite place at Hogwarts is in the Dark Forest.

It's a river, secluded, and small enough that only someone accustomed to being generous would call it a river at all.

He goes there regularly. Sneaks off, and sits there, indulging his idiosyncrasy of being serious. Of mulling thoughts over, letting them ferment and then pulling them out and analysing until they make as much sense as they're ever going to.

None of the others know about the river. He doesn't know if he wants them too. Despite his best efforts, he doesn't have many secrets left now. They've been steadily teased, tricked and tortured out of him; his protective layers torn off and cast aside, one by one, until the biggest secret of them all, the one at the heart of Remus Lupin is getting dangerously near to being exposed.

It aches.

Sometimes now, in moments of madness, he wants the others to just **know**. He trusts them, more than he trusts anyone, even his parents, and he wants to be a proper part of them.

He's tired of being separate. He wants to stop being the one standing on the edge of the pool, and plunge into the water.

He wants to live properly, not just play at it, but he knows that if it goes wrong, he likely won't be living at all.

God knows why they sorted him into Gryffindor, because he really is the ultimate coward.

But the river is his penultimate secret, and the cowardly part of him wants to keep it, hugged to him like a safety blanket.

Because as much as he wants to trust his friends, he knows it isn't sensible.

To the rest of the year group, they're carefree, brilliant, brave – the ones to beat, the ones to look up to.

But from Remus's position on the inside, he knows that this isn't the case. They aren't perfect, and there are cracks.

Well, perhaps not cracks. The other three are too young, too free of angst for them to be actual cracks.

Shadows is a better word. Little dark points of weakness, which everyone avoids, because if you press, if you enter, you don't quite know what might be lurking.

There's Sirius. Arrogant, carefree and laughing. And just occasionally, possessor of the saddest, cruellest pair of grey eyes Remus has ever seen.

Sirius with his broken home life, the brother he doesn't talk to, and the childhood he refuses to talk about.

Then there's James. James, with his happy home, and supportive parents, and deep, loyal bond with Sirius. They're so similar. Know each other inside out, scars, warts and all, and accept each other anyway. And Remus can't help but think that that bond could destroy them.

And Peter. Quiet, harmless, gibbering Peter. Scared of Sirius, hero-worshipping James. Fear and hero-worship. A potentially deadly combination if Remus ever saw one, particularly with Sirius and James's lack of tact and respect for the feelings of others.

If Remus is going to trust something, he needs it to be whole. To be completely safe and secure and able to catch the weight of his secret.

And Peter, James and Sirius are not that.

Not yet anyway. Maybe one day, Remus likes to think.

He sits, watching the river.

The water is dark, tumbling, pouring down from the mountains and rushing out to the sea. An endless cycle, no beginning, no end, as old as the Earth itself.

Much like the cycle of the moon.

He shifts on the mossy ground, and hugs the secret of the river closer, liking its protection.

And then there's the snapping of a twig, the sound of heavy breathing and a voice calling,

'Remus! Remus…OI, LUPIN. Where are you, you sod?'

Just like that the security is torn away, and Remus Lupin only has one secret left. It aches fiercely inside him and cringes away from the daylight.

And he realises. His friends might not be strong or whole. Not completely. But nothing is. And if they think they can handle it –handle him – and let's face it, when have James or Sirius met anything they think they can't handle? – then it's not really going to be up to Remus.

Trusting someone isn't about waiting until you've uncovered the shadows, sealed up the cracks.

It's about seeing the shadows, feeling the cracks, and telling your secret anyway.

Sirius emerges from the other end of the clearing. He, more than any of them, never knows when to let things go.

He plonks himself down next to Remus, and says,

'So this is where you've been creeping off to, you sneaky bastard.'

And that's when Remus knows that the matter of his lycanthropy isn't an 'if'. It's a 'when'.

Looking at Sirius, who's chattering about the upcoming Quidditch match, that thought doesn't bother him nearly as much as it should.


	6. Sunset

**Just about managing to stick to my updating schedule! Having a few internet problems...*groan* **

**Fairy dust and chocolate to Xanthiae, pigs103, Enaid_Mora and lumos_maximum for the reviews! I will at some point send you all a PM, but as I said...internet problems. Blinking AOL. **

* * *

It's the second month of third year when they find out.

They come to him in the dormitory and tell him that they know.

There's no room for questions in James' neutral voice.

He looks Remus in the eyes and says,

'So. You're a werewolf.'

Despite having decided in second year that maybe, just maybe, it might be alright if they knew, Remus hadn't been prepared for how much it would hurt.

How raw, and frightening, and goddamned painful it would be to sit on his bed and have every semblance of safety and security torn away. The wolf was the darkest part of him. He knew it, and now, they knew it too. He was left, wide open and bleeding, for them to judge.

Strange, how four words, spoken by a scruffy, bespectacled git, had the ability to re-paint your world in entirely different colours.

'How did you know?' he asked them, his voice croaky.

And they told him.

First year, they said, they hadn't even noticed. Didn't spot the heat of the wolf in his eyes the night before, or the limp in his step the night after. Didn't even notice the night itself, his continual monthly absence from the dorm.

'Stupid.' James says, by way of explanation.

'Selfish.' Sirius corrects, and there's something strange and tentative about the way he holds himself.

Second year, they say, they started to notice. Remus was more a part of the whole, and so when he went missing, they wondered. Peter's supply of healing chocolate had been offered more readily, and they'd come up with theories about where he'd been.

'You never asked.' Remus croaks.

'Didn't know how to.' James replies.

'Didn't care enough to try and figure it out.' Sirius, again. Blunt, to the point, and painfully honest. But it doesn't hurt because Remus recognises the body language. It's guilt.

Third year however, is bringing changes. Growth spurts – Sirius and Remus, acne – James, and broken voices – all of them, and with it, a deeper sense of responsibility. Of loyalty and trust, and awareness of those around them. They're growing up and it made them notice.

So they followed Remus' lead and went to the library.

It was Peter that figured it out, James' says. One of his irregular moments of brilliance, coinciding with him learning the lunar calendar for Astronomy homework.

James had taken some convincing, sure that the other two had lost their minds.

Sirius had accepted it straight off the bat, and as James says this, he shoots a suspicious look at Sirius, as though he still doesn't understand the logic of his best friend. For James and Sirius, this is an extraordinary thing, and Sirius shrugs and looks away.

As he does, he catches Remus' eye, and Remus suddenly doesn't find Sirius' immediate acceptance strange at all. He knows that it's James and Sirius and it always will be, but from the first moment Sirius challenged him to join in, almost two years ago now, he's had the uncanny feeling that Sirius can see him.

Really see him, that is.

The others see Remus Lupin. Quiet, bookish, clever, serious. Gentle, and kind. Sirius sees that too, but he also seems to see the other things. The sly sense of humour. The quick mind for mischief. The quiet longing for acceptance. The anger and the bloodlust of the wolf.

Normally Remus hates it. Tries to avoid being alone with Sirius, despite the fact the boy is one his best friends. But right now he's grateful.

Because a conclusion that seems wild and slightly impossible to James and Peter, makes nothing but perfect sense to Sirius Black. Remus can easily imagine the clicking of the puzzle pieces falling into place when they told him.

He looks at James' nervously.

'What are you going to do?' he whispers.

Sirius looks back at James, his grey eyes suddenly burning fire.

James looks at Peter, who looks nervous and twitchy, and then out the window, where the sun is setting over Hogwarts.

'I don't know,' he says quietly.

At this, Sirius makes a noise of supreme disgust, and storms from the room. Remus can't even try to understand his behaviour. Sirius is pureblood, still a Black, despite everything.

Would he betray him?

He looks at James, who shuffles his feet uncomfortably.

'Come on, Pete,' he says, and leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind them.

Remus looks out at the blazing trail of dying light across the sky, and wonders if tomorrow, the sunset will be painted in his blood.


	7. Relief

**Sparkly lights and snowballs to Xanthiae, Lumos_maximum and Enaid_Mora for the reviews! You guys are amazing. Also to all the people who have put this on favourite or alert :)**

* * *

'_So. You're a werewolf.'_

And so follows two weeks of near silence. Remus cannot understand how he could ever have preferred it.

He'd been so naïve, so stupid, to presume that once his friends knew, either he'd be dead, or he'd be accepted.

He now existed in a kind of limbo, one in which good moral citizens couldn't bring themselves to fraternise with werewolves, but loyal mismatched friends couldn't betray one of their own.

He'd torn down the last of his barriers, and they'd instantly erected another one, and he was still on the outside.

Ironic.

Remus had always been a fan of irony. Dry, witty, the little jokes of Fate.

Somehow, this wasn't so funny.

The only small comfort came in the form that the Department of Magical Creatures didn't come knocking, and in the fact that he wasn't the only one on his own.

Sirius was as well.

It was odd, seeing James without him. A little like seeing James without a head.

Remus didn't know why Sirius had chosen this moment to branch out on his own, and he didn't particularly want to.

But it helped, that the other three weren't holed up together, despising him.

Another week passed, and Sunday, Remus returned to the dormitory late at night. This had become his habit. Study in the library until he fell asleep on his books. Awake with a start after roughly four minutes and then make his way back to the dormitory.

Pray for a pillow to smack him in the head when he entered. Smother the flash of pain when it never did, and then bury himself in bed.

Tonight however, they were waiting for him. Assembled in a row on his bed, like naughty school children awaiting punishment.

Remus leant on the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, and tried to act as though his ribs weren't slowly being dissolved by his stomach acid.

James took the lead again.

'So,' he said, 'we've been thinking.'

'And thinking, and thinking and then doing some more completely unnecessary thinking, like the enormous great **prat **you are.'

Remus wondered how the earth had stopped turning for him, yet still Sirius finished James' sentences.

James shot his best friend the mother of all dirty looks.

'And. We've come to a conclusion. We don't care.'

'_What?_'

Remus' voice came out as a hiss, fuelled by fear, anger, and the tiniest, cruellest, fledgling piece of hope.

'We don't care,' James repeated, his voice stronger now. 'You're still Remus. Still the scrawny, knobbly-kneed git we met in first year. You're just…a little hairier once a month. Call it your furry little problem.'

His furry little problem.

Somehow, that fell just a little short of describing the magnitude of the situation.

And wasn't that just utterly James.

The fledgling piece of hope grew wings and took flight.

'We're best mates, Remus,' Sirius's voice was brisk, and did not invite questions. 'This was never going to change that. It never will.'

Hope soared up, up, out of the window, and into the skies.


	8. Silence

**Cookies and candy canes to Kittenly, Xanthiae, pigs103, Enaid Mora and LuvMarauders4ever for the reviews! You guys rock :P**

* * *

Autumn turns into winter and frost encroaches on the window panes of the castle.

Two full moons pass, and Remus is conspicuously absent from the dorm.

They still don't talk about it.

Remus doesn't want to.

It's still raw just to know that they know, without having to actually discuss matters.

They're teenage boys. Discussing, along with tidying, studying and behaving, is something they are extremely likely to screw up spectacularly.

So there's silence.

But it's different from before. It's not empty.

Before it was the cold silence of two in the morning, when you look out the window, and there's no-one left in the world but you.

Now it's the warm silence of half past twelve at night, when you've fallen into bed and are immersed in the warm duvet, flirting with sleep, and aware of other presences around you in the dark.

It's the extra care James takes not to jostle him the few days after full moon.

It's Peter saving him the last slice of cake at dinner, and carrying his books to the dorm.

And it's Sirius, whose eyes follow Remus' every move, sharp and cataloguing, until Remus catches his glance, and holds it, letting him know he's okay.

They're sitting in the library, all four of them crammed around a single oak table.

Remus is doing the reading for History of Magic. It's his turn to do the homework.

It only took them a couple of months to realise that as long as the first couple of paragraphs were different, then they could each turn in identical essays and Binns would be none the wiser.

So they have a schedule, and December is always Remus' month.

James is leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, staring at the ceiling. He appears deep in thought, but Remus suspects that his mind is probably centred on what's for dinner, or something equally as banal. It's a talent of James' – the ability to appear much more deep and serious than he actually is.

Peter is fretting over Charms. Remus can predict that it will take him another fifteen minutes to start craning his neck at Sirius's finished answers, and probably twenty before he cracks and asks Remus to help him.

Sirius is scribbling frantically at a piece of parchment. He finished Charms in all of half an hour, and Remus knows that when he spots Peter craning his neck, he'll slide the homework into his bag out of sight. 'Character building', he'll call it.

Remus has no idea what the parchment that has Sirius's avid attention is, but he sincerely doubts that it's homework. He cranes his own neck.

Sirius looks up and catches him. Instead of sliding the parchment away, he angles it so that Remus can read what he's writing.

It's a list of ingredients. Sirius has something of knack for potions.

It's why they're partners in class – Remus is just as likely to blow his own head off as he is to produce a nice cauldron of Ageing Potion, and Sirius is good at damage control.

From what Remus can tell, Sirius is trying to figure out a way to have the Slytherins drinking a Swelling Solution in their pumpkin juice at breakfast.

The potion he's got sorted, but judging from the scrambled mess of ink and quill-torn paper, he's having difficulty working out how to add it to the juice without getting caught.

There's a massively complicated string of ideas, none of which will work, Remus can tell at a glance.

He knows that if Sirius and James are to have any chance at all of getting **all **the Slytherins, then the potion will need to be added before the juice even reaches the table.

He reaches out, angles his arm awkwardly, and writes,

_'Down the staircase by the Hufflepuff common room, you'll find a particularly fruity portrait. I hear the pear is very ticklish, and that House Elves are easy to bribe if you happen to have a Butterbeer or two.'_

Sirius skims the words, and then looks at Remus, the light of mayhem glowing in his grey eyes.

'You bloody genius,' he mouths.

Remus grins.

It doesn't matter if they don't talk.

Hell, they probably never will.

They know, and that's all that matters.

Silence says more than words.


	9. Night

**Apologies for the shamefully long delay in updating! Life got a bit too much xD**

**Many thanks to Xanthiae, pigs103 and Enaid_Mora for the reviews :) I really appreciate them!**

* * *

It's January and the night before the first full moon of the year.

Remus is in the dormitory, practicing silent levitation spells with Sirius and Peter.

A large, scorched cauldron (the victim of one of Remus' potions lessons) stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by various scattered objects; Remus' books, Sirius' alarm clock and boots, and what seems like several hundred of Peter's socks.

Inside the cauldron - the mark of a successful incantation - lays Sirius' astrolabe, and wallet, and Remus' telescope.

Across the room from him, Peter is turning slowly purple, lips tightly pressed into a thin line of effort, staring fiercely at his Gryffindor scarf.

The garment is not flying across the room to land in the cauldron, but it is twitching occasionally, as though it has the idea to rise up and attempt world domination but lacks just that final bit of incentive.

After a few more minutes of this, Sirius loses all patience, and with a quick flick of his wand, his pillow flies across the room, and thumps Peter in the head, knocking him backwards off the bed.

Peter yelps indignantly, sprawled on the floor, and Remus glares at the dark-haired boy, now lounging smugly on his bed.

He thinks how nice it would be to wipe that look off Sirius' face.

He reaches for his wand.

'_Levicorpus'_

It's a truly gratifying way to have your grasp of silent incantations confirmed - watching your arrogant ass of a friend hoisted into the air by his ankle.

Sirius is spitting and swearing, steadily turning red, his long dark hair a curtain around his head as he rotates slowly in midair.

'Remus, you utter bastard,' he snaps. 'Lemme down!'

Peter is rolling around on the floor howling with laughter.

And it is into this scene that James walks, and announces that he's going to marry Lily Evans.

All of them freeze; Peter – halfway through scrambling back onto his bed falls down again with a thump, Remus stops smirking, and even Sirius' curses fade.

'You what, Potter?' he demands.

'Evans,' James says, throwing himself onto his bed. If he's even noticed Sirius' current predicament, he isn't commenting. 'One day, she's going to be my wife.'

'And how are you drawing this conclusion?'

'She told me I was an arrogant prick with a head so fat she couldn't believe I fit through doors. She wants me.'

There's a silence.

No-one it appears, can think of an appropriate response to that.

James doesn't seem to care much; he collapses onto his back, and sighs happily at the ceiling.

'James, mate,' Sirius says, 'you've lost it.'

James favours him with a condescending look, and turns to Remus.

'Let him down will you, Lupin? I think too much blood has gone to his head. Soon he might cease functioning at all. Not that anyone would be able to tell the difference.'

Sirius growls.

'On second thoughts,' James says, 'leave him hanging.'

Ten minutes later, after thoroughly regaling them all with Lily's many virtues and graces, James departs to the bathroom, humming what sounds worryingly like a love song. Peter trails after him as usual.

Remus deems it safe to release his captive and mutters the counter curse.

Sirius crashes back to the bed, bounces once, and lands on the floor in a tangle of limbs.

There's a brief silence as he gets his breath back, and during it, Remus gets up and moves across to look out of the window, studying the moon hanging swollen in the sky. Almost full.

He feels suddenly and inexplicably melancholy, as though the idea of James marrying Lily Evans, ludicrous and unlikely as it is, has reminded him that there is still a world outside Hogwarts, and some day he'll have to face it again.

He sighs, and then suddenly registers a presence at his back.

He knows its Sirius, and presumes revenge, tensing automatically.

However, the other boy remains silent, and when Remus turns, half a question in his eyes, Sirius is looking out of the window as well.

Whether or not he's looking at the moon Remus doesn't know, but he has an uncanny feeling Sirius might just know exactly what he's thinking.

His friend sighs quietly, and Remus feels the brief pressure of a hand at the small of his back.

'Night, Moony,' Sirius murmurs.

Remus stops breathing, swinging around to stare incredulously; shocked beyond words that the other boy would bring up something they've all been very carefully not talking about in such a casual way.

As though it simply doesn't matter.

Remus shifts and the raw place inside of him aches a little more sharply. Somehow, despite this, it hurts just a little less.

_Moony__**, **_for heaven's sakes.

Sirius is whistling tunelessly, hunting for his pyjamas, completely unaware he's being scrutinised.

Remus turns back to the window, and the pit of his stomach feels warmer, the weight lessening.

The outside world is a long way away yet.


	10. Cry

Almost a month later, and February has arrived. The weather has lost none of the angry, bitter cold of January. If anything, the frost is sharper, the wind just that little bit more biting.

It's both a Tuesday night, and the night after the full moon; a coinciding that always leaves Remus feeling distinctly melancholy.

Normally Tuesday nights are his haven – the one evening of the week where he can have the dorm to himself and sit and read, or think, or just simply be. Peter has remedial Charms, and James and Sirius are at Quidditch practice.

The night after full however, this becomes something of a curse. Every bone in Remus's body hurts, as though they have been broken in a hundred places and jammed back together again. He supposes in a way they have.

Newly healed gashes are red raw against his usually pale skin, chafing whenever he has the temerity to move, and every hair on his head aches with tiredness.

It's the one Tuesday where he would give anything to have Peter mumbling over Transfiguration, or James reciting mad plans to win Lily's heart, or Sirius running an obstacle course over the beds like a large, hyperactive puppy, just to distract himself from the fact he feels a particularly brutal one hundred and three.

Instead, he is left to stare out of the window, watching the waning moon, and trying very very hard not to move so much as a finger.

He's been doing this successfully for about an hour and a half, when the door to the dormitory flies open with such force that James barely has time to leap through it, before it rebounds off his trunk and slams shut again.

Remus jumps so violently he almost falls off the window ledge he's sitting on, and curses.

'Hey, Moony!'

Bloody James. His hair's stuck up all over the place like a demented hedgehog, his glasses and Quidditch robes are splattered with liberal quantities of mud, and Remus doesn't think he'll learn to do anything quietly, ever.

He manages to pull out a slightly strained smile of greeting. Irritatingly, even this hurts. He sighs.

'Moony?' James prods, 'you okay?'

'Don't call me that,' Remus says automatically.

Sirius's nickname has somehow caught on, and every time it's used he's hit with a cold jolt of panic, doing an automatic check of who's in the vicinity to hear.

'_Don't be so paranoid, you goon,_' Sirius will tell him, and this frustrates Remus beyond belief. Frustrates him because this is _serious_ damnit, he's an illegal, unregistered Dark Creature, and he's allowed to be a little goddamned paranoid.

Although what frustrates him more is the little flares of warmth that follow those jolts of panic. They aren't as strong, and they're much more subtle, but they're definitely there.

Remus has a feeling they are what his mother would refer to as _foolhardy_.

'You're back early,' he tells James.

The other boy gives him a look that suggests he's doubting Remus's mental capacities, and nods out of the window. Remus turns to look and realises that despite having been staring fixedly out for the last hour and a half, he has failed to notice that it's snowing.

'Right,' he says, and then, 'why the mud?'

'Sirius,' James replies.

To those who do not know Sirius Black this might not seem much of an explanation. However, to those that do, it is more than adequate.

Remus turns back to the window.

There's a moment's silence.

Then,

'Lupin?' James says, 'Remus? Are you sure you're alright?'

Remus isn't sure. He's tired, he hurts all over, and for some reason, he's achingly lonely.

He feels cold.

Nothing James can fix.

He nods.

'I'm fine, just…you know, usual stuff.'

And because they still don't talk about the werewolf thing, James accepts this and backs off.

'Going to have a shower, mate. Kitchen raid later, yeah?'

'Maybe,' he replies, turning back to the window.

A moment later, he hears the door to the dorm shutting, and knows he is alone again.

He settles back against the cold stone wall. He doesn't understand this feeling.

He's never felt truly alone, not once, since meeting James, Peter and Sirius. But now he feels isolated, like there's not a single person in the world who can reach him.

The feeling has been growing for a couple of months now, and it's always most intense the nights on either side of the transformation.

Whatever the cause, he hopes it passes soon. He can't stand it, these tendrils of gloom and emptiness, creeping insidiously through him.

Behind him, the door opens again, very quietly.

Remus turns. Sirius's head is poking through the gap, warily scanning the room.

'James isn't here,' Remus tells him. 'He went to shower, so you're safe for another, oh, thirteen minutes or so.'

Sirius's head grins at him, withdraws, and then he reappears in full, shivering through the door, accompanied by the smell of wind and snow.

Remus watches absently as Sirius bounds over to his trunk, chattering nineteen to the dozen about Quidditch practice. His voice becomes slightly muffled as he yanks his robes over his head, but the clarity returns in time for Remus to hear the tail end of his sentence, which consists of,

'…right off the back of his broomstick into an enormous puddle! Fucking _magic_.'

Remus dredges up a laugh from what feels like the dark depths of his soul. Clearly, though, it isn't anywhere near convincing enough, because Sirius halts mid-sentence, and stares at him.

'Moony?' he says, 'you alright?'

Remus has no problem lying to James, but he's always found it much harder to lie to Sirius. This is something that irritates him, because he always tries to keep his affections for the other three on an even footing.

Still, he can't quite find the strength to utter the words '_I'm fine_' again. They seem to have lost all meaning in his mind.

He opts for silence instead.

Sirius doesn't say anything else, and for one blissful, strangely disappointing moment, Remus thinks he might just have dropped it. Then he feels his legs shoved violently off the other end of the window sill, as the other boy plunks himself down opposite.

'Was it bad this month?'

Remus snaps his eyes up to Sirius's, but the unreadable expression in the other boy's grey eyes forces him to look away again.

Perhaps it's the disbelief that Sirius has actually dared to start a conversation about what has become The Thing They All Know But Never Mention, but somehow Remus finds himself answering.

'No worse than usual,' he replies, 'not the actual transformation anyway.'

He notices Sirius's throat tightening at the word 'transformation' but he doesn't back down.

'Then what?' he asks.

Remus shrugs, carefully beginning to pick at the fraying edge of his jeans.

'I'm not sure,' he replies. 'Something different…It's more…before and after, than during.'

Sirius reaches out, and stills his hand.

'Are you in pain?' he asks quietly.

Remus shakes his head.

'Not physically,' he replies, and then winces at how pathetic and self-pitying that sounds.

Sirius doesn't laugh though, his mouth doesn't even twitch.

He nudges Remus's leg with his foot.

'Tell me,' he says, 'I could help?'

Remus chokes back a laugh that he's almost certain Sirius would find offensive.

'No,' he says, 'it's nothing. Just depression. Feel detached. Bit lonely. That sort of thing. It'll pass.'

'Lonely?' Sirius says, and Remus can hear the hurt reflected in his voice, his focus on the word making it obvious.

'I know it makes no sense,' he mutters. 'I've got less reason to be lonely now than I have since I was…'

'Since you were bitten.'

Clearly Sirius has the Gryffindor courage that Remus often feels he sorely lacks.

He shrugs.

'It's just around the moon. Fades the rest of the time. Just another part of being a werewolf I suppose.'

It's the first time in this utterly strange conversation that either of them have used the 'w' word, and Remus feels warm inside at the fact that Sirius doesn't even flinch.

'Maybe it's not you,' Sirius says.

Remus raises an eyebrow, unable to follow the other boy's logic.

'Maybe it's the wolf.'

'The _wolf_?'

Sirius shrugs.

'You said yourself, _you _aren't lonely anymore. But the wolf still is. Maybe he's starting to feel it more, now that there's a contrast.'

Remus is rendered completely and utterly speechless. He cannot comprehend how Sirius Black, one of the most insensitive, blunt and tactless people he knows, has managed to empathise with a dark creature that is shunned and feared by all.

More than that, he cannot believe that someone else has considered the idea that werewolves might just be something other than a seething mass of darkness.

'Haven't you heard, Sirius?' he says rather sharply, 'we werewolves don't get lonely. We're a medley of evil, anger, and hate with a garnishing of blood lust.'

Sirius tilts his head slightly, grey eyes piercing.

'You were howling last night, Moony,' he says.

'You could _hear_ me?'

Sirius just looks at him.

'I can always hear you,' he says,' and you know what?'

Remus stays silent.

'Last night, you didn't sound angry. You just sounded sad.'


	11. Fair

**Huge thanks to LoverFaery and Lumos_Maximum for the lovely reviews - they really brighten my day!**

* * *

Two weeks later, and Remus is going quietly insane.

The depression has faded to a muted buzz in the background, dormant until the next full moon, and all Remus wants is to forget the conversation with Sirius ever happened. He's uncomfortable, in that teenage boy sort of way, at the emotions he shared.

It's difficult though, when the other boy's eyes follow him wherever he goes, calculating, cataloguing, and hot over Remus's skin; an itch that he can't quite scratch

He has the awful feeling that Sirius is _plotting_.

He spends the fortnight telling himself that yet again he's being paranoid.

This falls apart spectacularly when James approaches him in the library late one Wednesday night.

Remus knows it's serious because otherwise the sight of James in the library would be a sign they've been plunged into a parallel universe, and the next thing he'd see would be Madam Pince singing the Sound of Music.

James edges up to his table, and lowers himself slowly into a seat. He's twitching.

Even his glasses look shifty.

Remus raises an eyebrow sardonically.

'Everything okay?'

'Yeah, yeah,' James says automatically, before his brain seems to catch up, '...actually, no.'

Remus was fully expecting this, but his stomach does a swallow dive just for the hell of it.

'What's wrong?' he asks.

'Sirius,' James says, and Remus reflects on how many questions can be easily answered with just that one name.

'Sirius,' he repeats.

'He won't stop,' James says, completely inexplicably.

'Won't stop what?'

'Talking. About you. About…he says it's not fair.'

Remus isn't drunk, and therefore, so far, this conversation isn't making a huge amount of sense.

'What isn't fair? Try for a full sentence this time.'

It's a mark of how distracted James is that he doesn't rise to that as bait.

'He says that…that you're…or well, that _Moony _is…lonely. That it's not fair that you have to…you know…or _Moony _has to…spend that time of the month on his own.'

'He…_what_?' Remus repeats, incredulous, 'why the hell would he be worrying about _that_?'

James shoots him a look, that's just a little too sharp and knowing, and at the same time seems to imply that Remus is an imbecile.

Remus doesn't like it much.

'He's worried,' James reiterates, 'that you're getting depressed, or whatnot, because when you transform, Moony's lonely.'

'Right', Remus says, hollow with shock.

'He keeps getting that look,' James says, 'that look when he's plotting something.'

Oh God.

If James has noticed it too, then it means Remus isn't being paranoid.

'Okay,' he says. 'Well…there's nothing he can do about it, so he might as well not waste his brain power.'

James rolls his eyes.

'You and I both know that when Sirius gets a bee in his bonnet, there's no bloody stopping him,' he says wryly.

'Right,' Remus says, confused as to what James wants, 'so you want me to do what exactly? I could talk to him?'

'No,' James says, 'I don't want to force you to do that. I don't really think you want to.'

'Then what?'

'I want you to promise,' James says, 'promise me something.'

'What?'

James looks him dead in the eye, suddenly completely serious. Remus can count on one hand the number of times he's seen that particular expression on the other boy.

'Promise me that no matter what Sirius says, no matter what he does, you will _never _tell him where you go to transform.'

Remus's ears ring suddenly, and he grasps the table for balance.

The image tearing through his mind is one too horrible to contemplate. He shoves it down, deep down, locks it away and swallows back the nausea.

That can never happen. Never.

He looks back at James, letting the other boy know he's been understood.

'I promise.'


	12. Persistence

**This is the first part of two linked chapters. **

**Huge thanks to Kittenly, LoverFaery, Xanthiae and AlaskanLeprechaun96 for the reviews. Really appreciate you all taking the time :)**

* * *

It's late March, and spring has finally broken through. There are still the remnants of frost on the ground, but weak, watery sunlight appears every morning, and flowers are bursting into song on the front lawn.

Of course, because this is Hogwarts, the bursting into song is quite literal, and every time Remus walks down to Care of Magical Creatures, he's serenaded with 'Oh, What a Beautiful Morning' by a particularly tuneless clump of daffodils.

But still, it's nice that winter is finally over. Remus was getting tired of James and Sirius tracking water and mud everywhere after Quidditch and having to wear three pairs of socks at all times, even when sleeping.

It's a Saturday morning, early, and Remus is lying on his back in bed, reading a battered old copy of Oliver Twist, and listening to Peter's snores filling the room.

Over to his left, Sirius is sprawled on his front like a starfish, mouth open, sound asleep.

James's bed is empty, and normally, Remus would be summoning up the energy to care, but today, he feels so peaceful, limbs heavy with lethargy, that he can't bring himself to bother.

He's just getting completely lost in Chapter 7, when an enormous weight crashes onto his feet, causing his entire bed to bounce, and the corner of Oliver Twist to jab him in the eye.

Cursing, Remus drops the book, and glares at Sirius, who, completely unperturbed, is now wriggling his way under the covers at the bottom of the bed, kicking Remus's legs out of the way in the process.

Remus fixes the other boy with his best dark glare.

Sirius beams back at him in return.

'Morning, Moony!'

'Good morning Sirius, I hope you slept well,' Remus deadpans. 'Why don't you come over here, jump on me, and then steal half of my bed space, and two thirds of the covers? I feel that would be a good start to my Saturday.'

Sirius grins.

'If you insist, my dear Moony, if you insist,' he glances over at James's empty bed. 'Hey, where's James? Don't tell me he's off chasing Evans again.'

Remus looks at his alarm clock and then raises an eyebrow.

'If he is, being that it's 7:32, I seriously doubt he's getting very far.'

Sirius rolls his eyes.

'It's Evans. It doesn't matter what the hell time it is, he's _never _going to get very far.'

'He should get marks for persistence.'

'There's a difference between persistence and stalking,' Sirius points out.

Remus has to concede, that yes, that is true.

'Anyway, Moony, I wanted to ask you something.'

'You aren't copying my Muggle Studies essay,' Remus says automatically.

Sirius looks hurt.

'Your low expectations wound me. As if I would copy your homework.'

'Are you serious?'

A gleeful grin spreads over Sirius's face.

'I'm _always _Sirius, Moony.'

Remus groaned.

'That joke was old the first time you told it, and it hasn't improved any since.'

Sirius laughs, the sound open and warm, and it tugs a little at Remus's stomach.

'What do you want then, you daft wanker?' he asks, slightly flustered.

'Can I borrow your wand?'

Remus stares at him.

'_That's _your question?'

'No,' Sirius says, with the eye roll of one employing infinite patience, 'that is merely the precursor to my question.'

'Right', Remus mutters, handing over his wand without complaint. He always feels a strange sort of thrill watching Sirius use it.

A horrible, pathetic, petty part of him thinks it might be because despite everything, when Sirius uses James's wand, things tend to go horribly wrong, whereas Remus's works for him just fine.

'_Silencio_,' Sirius murmurs, and the sound of Peter's snores is abruptly cut off.

Remus shifts uncomfortably. He has a sinking feeling of alarm that he now knows what Sirius wants to talk about.

Sirius turns back to him.

'So,' he says, 'how do you feel about animals?'

Remus wonders briefly if his friend has lost his mind.

'_How do I feel about animals?_' he repeats. 'Well…I uh…had a goldfish when I was eight?'

Sirius looks befuddled.

'A goldfish?' he repeats.

'Yes,' Remus says, talking deliberately slowly as if to one of limited intelligence, 'kept him in a bowl. His name was Chips.'

Sirius flips him the finger.

'Fuck off. That wasn't what I meant. How does _Moony _feel about animals?'

'Moony,' Remus repeats, confused, 'you want to know how a werewolf feels about animals?' A light suddenly dawns. 'This is still about what I told you before isn't it? You still think the wolf is lonely.'

Sirius nods emphatically.

'Come on, Moony, you have to admit it makes sense. It's the only explanation.'

'It _is _not,' Remus insisted.

'Yeah?' Sirius's raised eyebrow had 'challenge' written all over it.

'It could be…puberty,' Remus said, rather lamely, 'you know…hormones. Mood swings and that.'

There's a pause, before Sirius gives a shout of laughter, rolling around at the foot of the bed like an over-excited dog.

'_Werewolf puberty_?' he asks, breathless with amusement, 'I'll admit that you have a monthly cycle, Moony, but that's ridiculous.'

Sadly, Remus can't argue with that.

Sirius made a visible effort to sober up.

'So,' he said, 'animals?'

Remus rolled his eyes.

'I have no idea, Sirius. I don't recall having any burning desire to rip them to shreds, but if you give me a bunny rabbit for company, animal welfare might have a few things to say.'

Sirius kicked him under the covers.

'I wasn't thinking of rabbits, you great twat. I was thinking of something a little larger.'

'Like?'

'A dog?'

'Sirius,' Remus said, managing with a great deal of effort to keep a straight face, 'if you buy Moony a puppy for his birthday, I _will _do my utmost to have you sectioned.'

Sirius stared at him for a second.

Then he lunged and the next thing Remus knew, he was face down on the floor, and a large, heavy, Sirius-shaped object was kneeing him in the back.

Remus struggled heartily, feeling somehow that a werewolf should be able to escape from a chokehold, but after a few minutes, panting, he had to concede defeat.

'Truce?' he croaked, which was difficult, considering Sirius's arm around his neck.

'Not yet,' Sirius said calmly, not sounding even the slightest bit breathless – the bastard -, 'answer the question first.'

'_What _question?'

'Dogs? Yes or no?'

'Yes,' Remus gasped, wondering if he was turning blue in the face, 'as far as I know, yes.'

Sirius released him instantly, the smuggest smile Remus had ever seen spreading over his face.

'_Excellent_,' he said.

A feeling of doom overcame Remus.

He did his best to push it down. After all, short of transfiguring rocks into dogs, or buying him a pet, there was relatively little Sirius could do with his new information.

He massaged his windpipe, and glared at his friend.

Sirius lunged towards him, and gave him a smacking great kiss on the cheek.

'I love you really, Moony!' he proclaimed.

'Urgh, get _off _me you bastard,' Remus grumbled, wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his pyjamas, and ignoring the small flip his stomach had just performed. 'Why will you not let this thing drop?'

'Because I'm infamously bad at 'letting things drop' and because, my dear Moony, this _matters_.'

Remus had nothing to say to that.

Sirius bounded over to his trunk.

'Hey,' he said, 'I wonder if…'

But what Sirius was wondering, no-one would ever know, because at that moment, the door to the dorm flew open, and James appeared.

The invisibility cloak was under one arm, an old piece of parchment was clenched in his fist, and his face was alight with the kind of manic glee only sheer mischief and mayhem could induce.

The earlier feeling of doom intensified.

'So,' James said, throwing an arm out dramatically, 'I have an idea. An idea beyond any idea we've had before. An idea so great that when it comes to fruition, it will make us the greatest and most revered pranksters that Hogwarts has _ever seen_. Gentleman, not so gentleman, and werewolf,' he looked at Peter – still silently slumbering – Sirius, and Remus in turn, 'I have an _idea_.'


End file.
